World I: Flight
by kaitou-pandora
Summary: Convoluted plots are woven backstage; a new government ascends. The Thirteen work together to ensure the survival of everyone needed for the final battle, but first the Ninth created must ensure that his people do not break. AU, now on hiatus.
1. 1 Introduction

Title: World I – Flight

'Verse: 2007 Movieverse, set pre-war with G1 influences

Characters: Swiftseek, Swiftstealth, Truesight, Jazz, Bumblebee, Mirage, Nova, Radiarift, Radiashift, Swiftstrike, several unnamed mechs.

Rating: T, eventually

Warnings: Chapter is boring by necessity, setting up backstory. All named characters are canon with the exception of Swiftstrike; unnamed characters are not canon.

Summary: Convoluted plots are woven backstage; a new government ascends. The Thirteen must work together to ensure the survival of everyone suited for the final confrontation, but first the Ninth created must ensure that his people do not break. AU, G1-influenced

Disclaimer: Any ideas, concepts, and terms that you have seen elsewhere not posted by me on the TF Bunny Farm are not mine. Any characters seen elsewhere are not mine if copyrighted regardless of series, and likely

telepathy-plagiarized namewise if original characters unless otherwise stated. Characters going by OC names may or may not be canon, named or not.

/Com-speech/\Secure com-speech\

\Trine bond//Spark-bond\

"Normal"~Vossian/Praxian dialect~

Narration

~Sir! He's returning!~

~Open the gates.~

~Deactivate the force-field!~

The low, nearly inaudible hum which had filled the air ceased, allowing a subsonic hum of a different tone to fill the air. The subsonic hum gradually increased in volume and shifted in tone until a jet approached, sharp angles and rounded chassis gleaming in the light.

The jet transformed in midair, parts shifting and metal breaking apart to reform into new shapes. The being that landed was bipedal and humanoid, somewhat bow-legged as many of his kind were, and immediately brought one clenched fist up and over his chest-plates, inclining his cranial unit forward enough to cast a shadow on his upper torso.

Wings twitched automatically as the air currents shifted, but he forced himself to remain motionless, allowing no outward sign of the tension he felt. He waited until the approaching mech stopped before him and copied the pose of the jet, though the cranial unit of the newly arrived mech was promptly raised.

~At ease.~

Immediately both fists dropped, the new arrival's cranial unit rose, the pain in gold optics was revealed.

A questioning trill floated through the air.

The response was silent, as was the conversation that followed it. All the while two sets of wings, one jet and one composed of sensor-laden door-panels, twitched occasionally, moving in ways that were distinctly not coincidence.

In the dim shadows that clung to the edges of the room, two sets of optics glowed bright gold as their owners held an equally silent conversation, and a small light flashed.

Finally, the dark grey sensor-paneled mech spoke. ~Thank you.~

He motioned, wings flexing first down, then to each side and up. The jet nodded. Both repeated the fist-over-chest gesture, and the jet turned, took several steps forward, and leapt up, hovering.

"Primus be with you." A pause, barely longer than half an astrosecond. ~May the winds always be in your favor.~

~Fair winds to you, and good luck too.~

The hovering jet streaked into the sky, transforming back into a jet from his mechanoid form as he did so. The other mech watched until even the most advanced zoom function of his optics could not see the dim glow of turbines against the darkening sky. Then, he turned and raised a small device to his lip-plates.

~This is three-phi-one-four-one-seven reporting in. I've just received intelligence suggesting the formation of a new form of government. It is one commonly considered by the designation of totalitarianism . . . and I believe that the Autobot Council is responsible.~

The two sets of gold optics widened.

There was a brief pause.

~Yes. I believe it advisable to enact code 999 of the joint Vos-Praxus Constitution by the end of the megacycle.~

One of the pair watching the other mech made a small choking sound.

The sensor-panel-wings of the speaking mech stiffened, suddenly no more than inanimate sheet metal hiding sensitive wires from sight.

~And yes, I am being serious. Completely.~ A half-exasperated but fond look was directed towards the two sets of golden optics glowing in the almost-darkness.

Twin 'eeps' from the shadows, and the two mechs stepped forward. The jet whose paint-job was a lighter grey than that of the sensor-panel-winged mech rubbed at his helm sheepishly. The blue mech, Praxian-make like the mech who had beckoned the pair into the light, mimicked the gesture.

The pair flinched at the startled screech that was emitted from the device. The mech holding the device betrayed no sign of pain, all the more remarkable because the screech had practically been in his ear and because he had more sensitive audios.

~And now you officially know, Nova,~ the mech continued calmly. ~The whole of Praxus and Vos should too. Report with the committee's recommendation within the next orn.~ He clicked off the device without waiting for a reply and turned to face his companions.

"A boring diplomatic mission, you said?" the blue mech drawled.

"That was how this was supposed to turn out," the dark grey mech answered. "But you know how often things end up the way they're supposed to. Besides," he added with a shrug, "at least the negotiations were short."

The grey jet spoke up. "Is it really true? I can't believe it. What will we do? Do the others know yet? All of the wings must know by now, it's been only half a breem since we got the alert."

"Half a breem since we came down, you mean," the blue mech corrected.

"That's what I meant. We were all the way up in the main Tower when we got the alert. What should we do, Swi-"

A black hand shot out and clamped over the grey jet's mouth. The hand was attached to the dark grey mech, who had moved with a grace and speed which would be surprising to any who did not know him well.

\We're still considered outside./ The blue jet shot a half-exasperated, half-resigned look towards the grey jet.

A small smile crossed the faceplates of the dark grey mech as he removed his hand from his companion's mouth. "We should return to our quarters now."

"Yes, sir."

\No need to call me sir. You outrank me./ Affection colored the rebuke.

"Good idea."

\Not you too./ Resignation filtered across the bond from the youngest member of the trine. \I get enough of it as it is./

The flier trine retreated. The grey jet flashed a smirk at a certain corner, where the flashing light was located, for less than half an astrosecond. The two mechs followed his lead, the grey jet sticking out his glossa at the spot as he passed. (\True', behave your age./ \Yes, mother./ \. . . Oy!/) The three boarded a high-speed elevator, all three flashing a device similar to the black and white's communicator before a recessed scanner.

As the platform accelerated smoothly upward, halfway across the planet, three mechs stared.

*****

"Frag."

"Indeed."

"How in the Pit did they know?"

"Language, youngling." A black hand made somewhat abrupt contact with a yellow helm. "But a valid question nonetheless."

"You're reinforcing his behavior."

The owner of the black hand, who bore black and white armor, snorted. "Now you sound like the psychologist of their group, erm, what's-his-designation . . ." The mech glanced briefly at a nearby datapad. "Eh, it doesn't really matter right now, does it?"

"The blue mech?"

A nod was all the response the yellow mech received, prompting him to go on. "Well, the grey jet certainly didn't fail any expectations. 'Babbling a click a breem', right? It's not hard to see how he lives up to his chosen name."

The black and white mech nodded in approval. "Mirage?"

The third member of the group, a blue and white mech, looked up. "The tactician of their group . . . There's something about him that seems familiar, Jazz . . ."

"Familiar?" Jazz (the black and white mech) frowned. "You mean he reminded you of Swiftseek? I mean, they've both got what could be considered the right paintjob – if you combine a lot of black paint with some white, at least – and largely the same personality . . . but what are the chances that Swift' got upgraded to a battle-capable form?"

"One in a million," Mirage quoted. "And there's barely five million Cybertronians."

"So it obviously couldn't have been him, 'Raj. Don't worry about it." Jazz patted Mirage on the shoulder, then glanced at the yellow mech. "Bumblebee, status?"

Bumblebee jumped, hastily spinning around in his chair to face the console again. "Right! Er . . . they're in their quarters."

"Which we didn't have time to bug. Frag."

"Mirage!"

"He's going to learn it all from you eventually. Why should I hold back?"

The trio descended into friendly bickering, motioning back and forth.

None of them noticed the small camera in the corner swiveling to track them.

*****

The news spread like flames among spilled oil. All over the planet, mechs, jets, and even some femmes were asking for leave of absence, submitting their resignations if they did not receive it, or, in some cases, skipping the asking for leave and simply resigning.

When asked why, they all cited the same reasoning.

Family emergency.

"You can't possibly all have a family emergency!" one hapless employer cried, shielding his optics against the gusts of wind from his entire fleet of fliers. "You don't even have the same creator-units!"

At those words, a sort of amused ripple ran through the group. Two jets who he never would have thought to be capable of occupying the same room at the same time, regardless of the room's size or number of exits, stepped forward, fingers lightly intertwined.

They answered in unison, a bare Spark-pulse before the rest of the group.

"Loyalty first to the trine. Then, to family. All trines are family."

They left then, the two former enemies leading the group of fliers even as a third jet who they had never communicated with in public joined them. Patterns flickered in and out of existence within moments, formed by the great cloud of fliers. They approached several other groups of such clouds, reforming the patterns to fit with the others even as the same thing occurred with their ground-Sparked kin far below them. Each one sped up, slowed down, transformed to vault over obstacles, executed flawless barrel rolls, all the while traveling at near-suicidal speeds.

The entire display was silent save the rumble of engines and low hum of turbines and cooling fans – outwardly, at least. The bonds of every Praxian and Vossian veritably sang with joy. Reunions were taking place all over Cybertron, and though there was apprehension (for what could possibly warrant calling every last Spark back?) the mood was festive.

They were going home.

*****

~I have the report, sir. The committee recommends a full-scale meeting at the amphitheater.~

~That is to be expected. What did they suggest as a course of action?~

~They said to wait, to see what happens . . . and then to cut ourselves off if things are as bad as they appear to be.~

A nod, and a heavy sigh. ~As was expected. Thank you.~

~What will we do, Swiftseek?~ his grey trinemate asked quietly as the other retreated.

~You are our leader, Truesight. You know.~

~I didn't mean the city – that's Swiftstealth through and through. I meant us.~ Truesight's wing panels flickered uneasily. ~What will we do? I mean-~

"Calm down."

Truesight laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, Swiftseek. Still . . ."

"What we do will in all likelihood be affected, if not dictated by, what we will choose to do in regards to Vos and Praxus with the others," Swiftseek answered.

*****

"What are they talking about?"

"Dunno."

"What? Jazz, you're the cultural expert. How can you not understand what they're saying?"

"Contrary t'popular thought, the Vos-Praxus dialect doesn't allow outsiders t'understand their conversations easily. They're usin' sounds more easily understood by organics. Fliers are better equipped to go offworld for colonizing organic planets, and since the lot of 'em end up in contact with organic species they worked out a method of talkin' to th' organics, which spread into th' Vossian and Praxian dialects. I dunno what they're sayin', 'Raj. An' even if I knew what t'look for, I likely wouldn' understand it. I'd probably misunderstand and say that they're talking about interfacin' when they're only talkin' 'bout th' weather."

A soft squeak.

"Oh, mech up, 'Bee. Not like you've heard worse."

*****

Soft pede-falls behind them indicated the presence of their last trinemate and trine-leader, Swiftstealth.

~"How are the simulations coming?"~

A brief hint of a smile, one rarely seen by any outside of their small circle. ~"You mean the ones with-"~

~"The actual simulations for this, not for fun."~ Swiftstealth paused a beat. ~"Though we can go through those later."~

~"The simulations have been completed."~ A brief shift in the bond, a questioning prod from Swiftstealth, and all three opened the connection which bound them processor, Spark and essence.

Swiftstealth was the first to withdraw, horror lining his face-plates. \Swiftseek, you can't possibly mean-/

\I do./ There was no hint of humor carried with the words, only emotionless images that they still flinched at.

\But . . . then . . ./

\I'm afraid it's true./ Swiftseek sighed. \We'll likely have to enact Code 666 immediately./

\Code 666?/ A near-shriek answered them (the simulation results having been shared with the commanding trine of Vos). \Are you fragging glitched? We can't do that! If we do-/

\Nova, if we enact Code 666, then we will initiate the dual-city lockdown of Vos and Praxus, keeping channels of communication and supply flows only open between the two cities. Cut ourselves off from the rest of Cybertron. Live, flourish, prosper, as we always have, and did during the Great War./ Swiftseek kept his tones calm, though there was no mistaking the tension in his frame.

\Why, though?/

\What else could it be?/

\. . . So that was real./

\Yes. Unfortunately./

\But-/

\Do you honestly think I like doing this any more than you do, Nova?/ The irate Praxian mech whirled on a startled Seeker trine. \I don't want to have to enact Code 666 if I can avoid it! Trust me when I say that there is no other way./

\Swiftseek-/

"Do you honestly think that I am the spy?"

The red jet spluttered angrily. "Now, see here-"

"Swiftseek's Praxian-born, ground-wing-Sparked and programmed, as you well know," the gray Praxian-make snapped, stepping forward. "He grew up with Swiftstealth, and I knew 'Stealth long before we were even trined, let alone chosen to rule."

"Truesight-"

"I can't believe that you're supporting this, Radiarift." Two sets of gold optics met; one furious, the other startled. "You're supposed to be the sensible one."

*****

Jazz snorted. "Him, sensible?"

"Who the frag put lubricant in his morning energon?"

"Bumblebee! Watch your glyphs!"

"But Mirage . . ."

"Listen t'th'Towers mech, now, Bee. Gotta finish listenin'."

"Jazz . . ."

"Swiftseek. I know."

*****

"And I don't care what you say. Unless you have anything beyond wild speculation as proof, I refuse to believe that 'Seek's the one who put the cameras there, seeing as both he and Swiftstealth pointed them out, and we all know that every room we go to save our quarters has been bugged with laser microphones." A challenging tilt of his head. "Right, Nova?"

*****

Mirage choked.

"Er . . . Mirage?"

"I don't think you planted the microphones well enough. Hear what they said?"

A pause.

"Fragging Pit!"

"Mirage!"

Glaring at nothing in particular (which was always a Bad Thing when it came to him), Mirage started muttering to himself.

*****

\Why the frag did you let them know that we know what they can hear?/

\Because "Prowl" already let them know about the cameras./ Truesight turned a glare on the jet trine.

"Or did you not get that part of the briefing?"

All three withered as one.

*****

"How do they do that?"

"What?"

"The whole talking-like-they're-having-parts-of-a-conversation-that-we-can't-hear thing."

". . . No clue, m'mech."

"Same here."

"Drat."

A pause.

"Wait, why'd you bring that up just now?"

"'Cause it was _bugging_ me."

"Hey!

"Now that was mean, 'Raj."

*****

"Wingmates! Conclave's about to start!"

A ripple flickered through the six mechs as the femme approached.

"Is it time already, Swiftstrike?"

"It is time for our good little Wingleaders to be preparing rather than bickering like old bonded trines." The femme ignored the indignant splutters, clearly used to them.

*****

"Wingleaders?"

"Jazz, so help me Primus, if you dare to say what I know you want to say, I'll leave you for the Destroyer when he comes, I swear it."

"What?"

"They're the ringleaders."

A spare microphone made contact with the yellow youngling's helm.

*****

"Come on, mechs! It's time to go to Conclave!" The femme beamed, sensor panels flickering.

*****

There was a brief pause.

"What is Conclave, anyway?"

_Fin_


	2. 2 Explanations

Disclaimer: Any ideas, concepts, and terms that you have seen elsewhere not posted by me on the TF Bunny Farm are not mine. Any characters seen elsewhere are not mine if copyrighted regardless of series, and likely telepathy-plagiarized namewise if original characters unless otherwise stated. Characters going by OC names may or may not be canon, named or not. Characters with canon names will be canon unless otherwise stated. Passsages are modeled after the Bible in writing style and narration style; obviously, those patterns do not belong to me, and so please don't sue me for that. 21st Century King James Bible found online used for reference purposes. Ready access to a Bible not necessary to understand the content of the story. Not intended to offend anyone.

In short: Any ideas which can be found via searching the Internet and/or your local library are not mine. Unless said Internet site is my LJ ficjournal, LJ personal journal, or this username, and any affiliates thereof.

Edited slightly for clarity and to add a term to the list.

Narration

In the beginning, it was difficult to say if they were surrounded by light-white-brightness or gloom-black-darkness because at that point in time, the two concept-states had not been created.

It was far easier for them to refer to each other by their original creation-numbers – what later became known as their proto-Spark numbers – rather than risk getting confused with multiple aliases. Besides, to use anything else felt wrong, a denial of the truth behind their respective creations.

They were not the first created. Delta-One was by no means the first of what would later become known as the Cybertronian race, and of course Pi-Thirteen was not the last of the Cybertronians created. Thirteen was, however, the last of the ones to be created personally by Primus.

They had been chosen by Primus out of the first so-called test run of mechanoid life-forms. One hundred had been created at first, one hundred new-Sparked who were created in the (admittedly scaled-down and altered) image of Primus.

The eighty-seven Sparks who had not been Chosen to be Thirteen were collectively titled the Covenant. They managed relatively minor tasks in protecting the alternate form of their Creator. One of the Covenant was titled Primon, after their Creator. One of the Thirteen was titled Prima, also after their creator, with enough variation in their names that they would be less confused when setting out names in the history of what was to be their future.

The Thirteen were protectors of the Multiverse, bound by their Creator to ensure the survival of as many continuities as possible.

(It was important to note that these continuities only involved Transformers and/or the humans associated with said humans. They wanted to maintain the sanity of anyone who might end up crossing into their continuities, after all, and making sure that all the humans they worked with, said humans' ancestors, and said humans' descendants were largely sane was an important part of this. As a result, they often encountered some . . . interesting versions of themselves.)

Creation of the beginnings of the Cybertronian race was left to them after their Creator explained various things he desired in the race. After a great deal of debate, they settled on a suitable myth of creation for their descendants.

*****

In the beginning Primus created the universe. The universe was without form and void, so Primus created galaxies and star systems, to give the universe shape. And Primus created planets, to give further form to the galaxies, and His form moved amongst the galaxies and stars and planets. So it was that the first orn passed.

And Primus started the fusion of the stars, and light-white-brightness entered the universe; and there was light. He pulled two suns from orbit nearby, both which would burn almost the same orange-white shade, that His creations would have a source of light. He left the stars as they were. There was no need for a smaller light in the form of a moon to light His creations' sleeping hours, for those who were required to work at night would be able to light their own way. So it was that the second orn passed.

And Primus left the universe to form untouched by His hand; and He altered His form so that He could watch His people grow and evolve after His job was finished. And He ensured that His people would have access to a new source of life, so that they would not be required to disturb Him unless they were in dire need. So it was that the third orn passed.

And Primus put the new planet into orbit around the two stars, so that His creations would be able to work and rest as he had during the first orns of the creation of the universe in which they lived. He ensured that the stars would stay together, so that one star was alone in the sky for 12 joors, the second star joined the first for twelve more joors, the first star set to leave the second star alone for twelve more joors, and then a 12-joor period of dark sky lit entirely by the light of more distant stars followed before the cycle repeated itself. And Primus saw that the light was good; He called the sunstarlit times light-white-brightness, and the distantstarlit times gloom-black-darkness. So it was that the fourth orn passed.

And Primus realized that his people would need a form of sustenance, so that they might not starve to death, for there would be no natural sources of energy to draw upon from his form. So he created a crystal filled with energy, and placed fields of the new crystal upon the surface of his new planetary alternate-form and in hidden caverns beneath his "armor", and named the crystal energon, for the fact that it would grant energy to his creations. So it was that the fifth orn passed.

And Primus drew forth metals from his armor to create the turbofoxes, cyber-rats, technofowl, and glitch-mice and all the animals of his new world. And He created the new beings using only the best and strongest alloys of metal, to ensure that only the best would survive. And He now turned his attention to creating His people, for it was only with the creation of His people that the integrity of the Multiverse would be ensured. He created the first Hundred Cybertronians by splitting off small pieces of his own Spark, careful to ensure that each Spark-fragment was able to sustain life on its own and that no two pairs of Sparks would risk Spark-clones when Spark-merged. He also created fifty different frame-types, and two of each frame-type, one mech and one femme. And Primus blessed them, and urged his newest creations to populate the surface of his new alternate-form

At the conclusion of the fifth orn Primus had finished his work, so on the sixth orn he rested from his work. And as creating the universe had been hard work, and he had not rested at all in the making, he decided to take two more orns to rest. He declared that every being he created would have to take the equivalent of three orns off during a 9-orn period, either all at once or broken up, though resting for three straight orns was preferable.

*****

"In the beginning, Primus created the first Hundred, to help him determine what he wanted of what would become the mechanoid Cybertronian race. First, though, he created the cosmos with all its stars, planets, asteroids, moons, and everything else needed for a proper universe. Then, once he was finished . . ."

"Creator-!"

"Yes?"

"That's so boo-ring! Can't you tell us a different story?"

"The creation myth is hardly boring."

"But – you said it yourself! It's a myth!"

"Myth is often based in fact, Swiftblade." He smiled indulgently at the young femme. "That's why you have to learn it."

"What's the point?" The other youngling with them, a mechling, blinked in confusion. "We're going to just learn the truth eventually anyway."

"But you will need to know the myth to blend in when you go outside."

"Crea-"

"No, I won't databurst you the information when it's time. I highly doubt that your instructors will either."

"Why do we have to learn everything when we can just download the information?"

"It's best for your processors that you get used to learning information and choosing what to commit to memory because of the risk of processor damage. Besides, what will you do if you need to remember something that you're told? If you don't prepare your processors now, you won't be able to do such things later."

The mechling cycled his vents. "Alright, creator."

"Now you two go be good younglings and settle down for recharge," the doorwinged mech said with an indulgent quirk of his mouth-plates. Still grumbling, the younglings obeyed, and moments later their systems slowed as they went into recharge.

Smiling to himself, Swiftseek rose, and joined his trinemate Truesight for the rest-cycle.

Index of Terms

Light-white-brightness – daytime, relatively speaking

Gloom-black-darkness – nighttime, relatively speaking

Creation-numbers – number referring to when one was Sparked in their initial shell. Originally and formally referred to as a creation-number; later informally referred to as a proto-Spark number

Cybertronian – a race of sentient beings who appear to some to be drones and others as lifeless robots; mechanical appearance, but actually fairly organic

Primus – living god of Cybertron. Or god-equivalent if you don't believe in god(s) – creator at the very least

New-Sparked – Cybertronian equivalent of newborn babies to humans

The Covenant – The eighty-seven of the first Hundred Cybertronians created not chosen to be part of the Thirteen

Primon/Prima – derivative names of Primus; both refer to separate beings

Multiverse – basically my version of explaining how crossovers between this and standard TF canons are possible; multiple versions of TF-related 'verses exist (i.e. this versus other fanfics versus original Transformers series – Armada, Car Robots/Robots in Disguise, Beast Wars, etc.)

Orn – unit of time equivalent to a human day. There are 13 days in an orn.

Joor – unit of time roughly equivalent to an human hour. Time equivalency to human time is 1 joor = 6.5 hours. There are 48 joors in an orn

Energon – exists in multiple forms, volatile and not; basic form of sustenance for all Cybertronians and mechanoid-based life forms on Cybertron. Mined from energon crystals, which are the most stable naturally found form. Energon crystals can be processed to produce cubes of liquid energon for consumption and transfusions for medical purposes.

Sparks – the very essence of a Cybertronian; equivalent of a human soul given form. Exists as physical entity hidden behind several layers of armor within a protected chamber to prevent accidental deaths.

Spark-clones – what happens when two or more Sparks are too similar to each other. Spark-clones result from the merging of similar Sparks, leading to the creation of new Sparks with little to no difference between the new Spark and the parent Sparks; often results in re-absorption of the small Spark.

Spark-merging – the process of withdrawing armor to allow two or more Sparks to come into contact with each other; Cybertronian equivalent of sex. Note that like human procreation, Spark-merging does not necessarily lead to offspring.

Frame-type – a term used to refer to the differing body types seen among Cybertronians. For further information on differing frame-types, see the appropriate post, found here.

Mech/Femme – rough differentiation of gender, though gender as perceived by Cybertronians is not the same as gender perceived by humans.

Creator – a title of honor given to one's Spark-bearers, the Cybertronian equivalent of parents.

Databurst – used to give others high volumes of information in short periods of time; done over secured frequencies most commonly, but can be done over any frequencies. Exchanging information via connecting to dataports is called

Mechling – term used to refer to a young new-Sparked out of the new-Sparked vorns; term of affection and endearment.

Younglings – term used to refer to offspring

Rest-cycle – time equivalent to night; varies depending on assigned schedule, but is normally used to connotate the time when there is no light from the stars Cybertron orbits

Orn – rough equivalent of a day

Decacycle – rough equivalent of a week; 9 orns to a week

Recharge – the period during which Cybertronians shut off all but their most essential systems to rest

Tell me what other terms I need to define; I'm sure I missed some!


	3. 3 Continuing

/Com-speech/ \Secure com-speech\

\Trine bond/ /Spark-bond\

"Normal" ~"Vossian/Praxian dialect"~

Narration Emphasis

Disclaimer: The idea of Conclave is taken from Dan Brown's Angels and Demons. Brown's incarnation of Conclave itself is based on a centuries-old Catholic tradition. Therefore, the word Conclave and its association with voting are not mine. I do not know if conclave is convened in a similar manner to vote on important matters as it is portrayed within this work of fanfiction; therefore Conclave in this incarnation is my intellectual property unless the above happens to be true somewhere in the world, in which case it will not be mine. The organization of the voting system of Vos and Praxus is my intellectual property, however, and is based on what I hope is a good representation of democracy. The unofficial ceremonial cheer is NOT mine, and congratulations to all who recognize its source. (I feel good, and that's all I'll say). Caramelldansen is not mine, and the same applies to the caramelldansen (caramelldancing?) Datsuns. All intellectual property may be used by anyone else as long as credit is given. IF plagiarism starts to occur, then permission will be required to use these ideas. Any characters recognized from somewhere other than this fanfiction prior to when the reader first began to read this fanfiction are in all likelihood not my property. And I'm sure that I may be unconsciously plagiarizing other authors in writing this work; if I am, please inform me, and I will fix the problem.

Now, as the incredibly long disclaimer is over, on to the chapter!

Warnings: You may want to go to the bathroom and/or clear your mouth of any objects such as food or drink before reading the second half of this chapter, especially if you can conjure up the appropriate mental images. Real life-based semi-crack (because people really do that; I'm one of them). The first part is a complex explanation which may or may not be important in the future (bunnies haven't given me a verdict on that part yet, but are leaning towards 'will be important').

Conclave

They traveled through the complex underground labyrinthine sectors to speed up their path, hoping to get to their destination megacycles earlier. They trusted their sky-wing-Sparked **(sky-winged?)** kin to arrive as soon as they could, knowing that they would reach their destination eventually.

All too soon they were approaching the gates to the underground sectors of Praxus. As they approached, the line of mechs transformed, the conversations shifting from com-links to a dull murmur that reverberated around them. The corridors were wide enough for a trine of mechs and femmes to stand side by side with some distance between wings or sensory panels, and so they quickly fell into a pattern – trineleader in the middle, flanked by trinemates with little regard for actual ranking within trine or city.

One by one they slid back into the Praxian and Vossian dialects, abandoning the mechanical warbles of Cybertronian for the softer chirring and flickering wing-panels of their own language. Each trine readied their com-access datadrive, flashed it before the appropriate sensors, and proceeded through the gates. It was an easy enough process, aided by the complex layering of trine-bonds among their kind. They were all part of one communal discussion and the dozens of different side-conversations all at once, catching up with friends even as rumors solidified and dissipated like no more than lines of basic coding. Friends, creator-units and creations, lovers, trines-to-be, bonded, all were reunited as they continued through the lines. Once through the gates, trines retransformed and continued on, joining other trines. Occasionally, trines would break up and reform, joining and forming different trines with others.

No detours were made, save mechs and femmes pausing to wait for others. They had all received the message the orn before. They all were going to the same place.

Conclave.

*****

Aboveground, much the same procedure was happening in Vos. The sky-wing-Sparked swung into formation, shifting rapidly from one shape to the next. The com-access datadrives were slipped from secret compartments (the technology being too important to risk in sometimes-volatile subspace) and passed before the confirmation ports. Identity and status confirmed, each jet-trine slipped through the gate and headed for its pre-assigned location.

*****

The Conclave of Vos and Praxus is held in a secret chamber of the Praxian Crystal Gardens, positioned precisely halfway between the two cities and so that half the chamber lies on the 'Praxian' side and the other half on the 'Vossian' side. This chamber lies in the midst of the most magnificent crystals every shaped, and contains more superb carvings not available to the public. Few know the secret of the carved crystals that decorate the Crystal Gardens of Praxus.

Each crystal holds a tiny bit of the Spark of the one who helped shape it, marking each and every crystal as unique.

This is why Praxian crystal must be cared for with the utmost caution, or else the vibrant colors will fade from the crystal and the crystal will shatter soon afterwards.

All Praxians have learned at some point in time how to shape and create a Praxian crystal. The crystals sold in the streets for the tourists are not truly Praxian crystal, as, understandably, few wish to give part of their Sparks to unknown mechs and femmes.

At first glance, the only function that the crystals could possibly serve is that of decoration, no pun intended. However, the crystals are essentially solid energon, and as such are more commonly used as a form of energy, often in staffs and various weapons (though notably few are adapted for guns). These weapons crystals are best used to help maintain containment fields in weapons utilizing toxic liquid energon and in heating metal to high temperatures to aid in cutting through anything from other crystals to be shaped to the densest alloy available to the Cybertronian race. They can also be used to power up one's standard mode (the untransformed mode utilized in common business), though this is now rare, an art all but lost to previous ages.

*****

Conclave is a relatively complex ceremony.

The whole of Vos and Praxus has been divided into districts, and from there further divided into subgroups known as pods, with an average of fifty Sparks in a pod. Membership in a pod is entirely dependent of Spark-relationships, meaning that whole creation-sectors often end up in the same pods, and that when Spark-bonds are formed, those pods are also connected. So it is that all of Vos and Praxus are connected with each other.

Occasionally a new pod is formed and added to a district, and rarely, a new district is formed. While membership in a district is roughly based on geographical locations (since it is easiest for new additions to the family to form closer to one original pod or the other), it is not the ultimate decider.

At the Conclave of Vos and Praxus, the process of voting is fairly simple. Each pod elects a representative to voice the views of the pod to the rest of the district once voting is completed within the pod, and that representative brings the decision of the pod to the district convention. At each district convention, the opinions of a thousand pods are aired, and a verdict is agreed upon. That verdict is voice by the two district representatives, one mech and one femme, both of whom are typically bonded (but not to each other, save through the normal trine-bond).

Each city has its own council, elected by the populace of each city. There are seven positions open on the twin councils, fourteen in total. Traditionally, three ground-wing-Sparked, three sky-wing-Sparked, and one ground-Sparked are elected to each council, though the number of each frame-type can vary from Council to Council.

Because there is barely enough space to house the final District Convention at the Crystal Gardens of Praxus, the initial stages of voting take place in various locations throughout Vos and Praxus, typically somewhere in the underground labyrinth below the two cities. In this case, the preliminary voting had already taken place as the pod traveled from various locations all over Cybertron back to Vos and Praxus. Each mech and femme had informed the pod leader of the decision, and each pod's leader had gone directly to the district representatives to inform them of the decision. Now the district representatives were arriving at the Crystal Gardens in preparation for the final stages of Conclave: the voting.

Once all the opening ceremonies are over, the not-so-official ceremonies begin . . .

*****

"_Hey, Swiftseek! How do you feel?"_

Truesight and Swiftstealth smirked at their black-and-white trinemate, who stood with a half-annoyed sigh. Cupping curved digits 'round his mouthpieces, he called out:

"I FEEL GOOD, OH I FEEL SO GOOD – UH! –" Here he paused for a bare astrosecond to lift one leg, bent at the knee, and do an odd sort of jerk with his back bent, his other knee bending as he pulled back, hands fisted and elbows bent. The whole action barely lasted more than three astroseconds- "– I FEEL FINE, ALL OF THE TIME!" Swiftseek raised a fisted hand above his head (here Truesight and Swiftstealth ducked) and began to hop, slowly turning in a circle. "A-BOOGA, A-BOOGA, A-BOOGA-BOOGA-BOOGA!" Once they were no longer in danger of being hit by their trinemate's sensory panels, the pair straightened.

The hall erupted in cheers, applause, and the occasional yell.

Sensor panels flared high and wide proudly behind him, Swiftseek smirked. "_Hey Truesight, Swiftstealth!"_

Instantly his trinemates glanced up. "Yeah?"

"_How do you feel?"_

"Fine."

"Oh, you know, just great, Swiftseek."

All around him, the hall erupted into warbling laughter.

"Oh, speaking of which, how do you feel?" Truesight's gaze turned teasing.

Annoyance filtered through the bond. [You make an idiot of yourself also.]

[Nah.]

"Fine," Swiftseek bit out, sitting down and pointedly not looking at either one of his trinemates.

They managed to keep their expressions impassive for less than a quarter-breem before Truesight lost his composure.

It was the signal for the opening of the unofficial ceremonies, and had always been that way. Every Conclave that they held, the same argument was rehashed with a different Spark as the target; it had been Swiftseek's turn this time.

An extremely long time later, the unofficial ceremonies finally finished. Said unofficial ceremonies had involved imitating an organic creature and swaying back and forth in odd gyrations and various things that could almost be considered cultlike.

Unofficial ceremonies now unofficially over, the winged trines separated to catch up with old friends and chat with multiple mechs, the formal gathering dissolving into a milling mass of jolted panels and wings and excitement and general euphoria at being _home_.

They would attend the final vote later. For the moment, they simply basked in the feel of the bonds and the presence of so many other wing-Sparked around them.

_*****_

Truthfully, there was one more step they had to take before they could vote. They still had to present the arguments for each side, extreme and not.

And before that could happen, they needed to decide which of their number would lead the opening arguments.

*****

"Who will speak in defense of the Council of Elders?" Swiftseek questioned, voice ringing out over the rapidly-quietly wing-Sparked. "Who will ensure that we make the correct decision? Who will speak as representative of Unicron?"

"I will."

Swiftseek turned, just as startled as the rest of the gathering, to stare at Swiftstealth. He recovered soon enough to manage the customary query:

"What qualifications do you have to speak as representative?"

Swiftseek barely managed to conceal a wince at their trineleader's almost literal explosion of incredulousness through the bond; Swiftstealth managed to bite back a retort, but his sensor panels twitched sharply before he managed to tone down their bond so that far less emotion came through.

"As main head of Praxus, I have experience in remaining impartial in many important matters."

"And yet as head of Praxus you are naturally biased in this matter," somemech called out. "Isn't that right?"

"Head of Praxus I may be, but nobody accuses the Prime of favoritism when he diverts funding from Vos to Iacon."

"That's different! The wing-Sparked are shunned by the wingless; have been since the First Transformer was created." A femme spoke up this time.

"None of the Thirteen shun the wing-Sparked," Swiftseek interjected quietly. "Else how else would I be able to work with my brethren?"

"But the Thirteen are different," she protested. "Surely being chosen by Primus-"

"Swiftseek is as mortal as the rest of us," Truesight answered. "By extension and association, the rest of the Thirteen are too. They will not shun us without reason as the wingless have."

"But-"

"Enough!" Swiftseek's expression and voice were thunderous. "The issue at hand is if Swiftstealth will perform well as representative of Unicron, not whether or not Cybertron and the rest of the Thirteen will shun us. Return to the issue at hand. Who here believes that Swiftstealth, leader of Praxus, will do well as representative of Unicron?"

The whole room erupted in warbling agreement.

Swiftseek waited until the massive chamber fell silent before nodding to Nova. The red jet stepped forward and spoke.

"And all those opposing?"

There was a long, tense silence, during which the only movement was that of an unconscious flicker of a sensor panel or jet wing.

Truesight and Radiashift stepped forward, speaking in unison. "Then Swiftstealth has been confirmed as representative of Unicron in these opening deliberations."

Now Nova stepped forward to speak as Truesight and Radiashift moved forward.

"Who will speak in defense of Vos and Praxus?" He waited for silence to fall again before continuing. "Who will ensure that we make the correct decision? Who will speak as representative of Primus?"

"I will."

Again incredulousness exploded through a trine-bond, though through that of a jet-trine rather than the Praxian-make. "What qualifications do you have to speak as representative, Radiarift?"

"As main head of Vos-"

"Hey, we all know we're going to have the same argument practically word for word, so why don't we just jump to voting?" somefemme in the audience called out.

"Motion to go directly to voting?"

"Radiashift!"

Radiashift grinned at them.

_Fin_

* * *

To clarify, ground-wing-Sparked and sky-wing-Sparked are the true Praxian- and Vossian-make. Ground-Sparked are those who were Sparked without the distinctive Praxian sensor panels, and sky-Sparked are those fliers who were not Vossian-Sparked.

To anyone who knows what I'm talking about: Is it supposed to be "a-booga" or "a-hooga" or "a-buddha" or am I just messing it completely up? (There's a video of this on Youtube, but sadly, it's somewhat abbreviated).

I remember going to Fall Rally (Southern California) at Knott's Berry Farm. I'm surprised I didn't yell myself hoarse by the end of the day – even after the cheering competition was over, my group (Emerald Division) kept being called out by every other division we passed. No doubt everyone else at the park that day thought us insane or part of a cult. ; )

Also, apologies for the long wait between updates. I tend to write rather slowly. Expect similar waits for future chapters. I'm aiming for at least 1 update a month for this fic. Updates on real-life status and various other fics in addition to this one can be found here: kaitou-pandora . livejournal . com. Anything here is guaranteed posted there; anything there may not be posted here.

Thank you for reading! And belated thanks to everyone who's added this to their story alerts and reviewed!


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